


Work Friends

by Kay (sincere)



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gossip, Phil's cellist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincere/pseuds/Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson doesn't talk about himself that much. He's dedicated to his job, and that's all he has to be. But sometimes the people around him want to know more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fic_promptly at Dreamwidth.org, prompt: "Any & Coulson: reading between the lines of what he doesn't say"

"Coulson," she said, and the man in question turned to return the greeting with a familiar small smile: "Agent Romanoff."

It wasn't often that they gathered around the metaphorical water cooler, working for SHIELD. Agents were very frequently out in the field, especially since the New Mexico incident: it seemed like all their special ops members were out at all times, investigating one thing or another -- desperately seeking the means to become stronger, to keep on top of new developments. So it was unusual to have a moment like this: in the kitchen at their central HQ, Coulson casually sipping his coffee while reading a newspaper after Natasha had finished her workout for the morning.

She prepped her own coffee without looking at him, apparently interested in the very distracting procedure of adding milk to her tastes. Then she said mildly, "So. How come I had to learn about this cellist from Pepper?"

He didn't laugh, although his smile did edge up. He was always reserved in his reactions, keeping to himself. Walk softly and carry a big stick; that saying might as well have been coined to describe Phil Coulson. Never the loudest man in the room, and so few ever suspected that he might just be the most dangerous.

"We've never really gossiped about dates before," was all he said. "I didn't think we were that kind of girlfriends."

Natasha grinned at him as she crossed over to settle at the other side of the table. "I've been out of the dating scene for a little while now," she told him. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about yours."

Coulson leaned back, shrugged. He was still smiling. "Not much to tell."

He was avoiding the topic more than she had expected. _Trouble in paradise?_ she wondered. But she'd only just found out about paradise. That wasn't fair.

He could still probably use advice. "What's her name?" Natasha asked, cradling her mug in both hands.

"...Annette," he admitted, a slight softening in his face.

So, not something he was angry about. Not a breakup that would leave bad feelings. That was good. It meant it could be mended. She smiled again, warm, encouraging. "Do you have a picture?"

There was another pause while he considered this request before reaching slowly for his jacket pocket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, leaning forward to show her the photograph. It was a simple shot, at what must have been a concert but far from professional; she was in a gown with her blonde hair straightened and piled up on her head, with a bundle of roses in her arms and Coulson -- in his suit, of course -- beside her. They were both smiling for the camera, bent towards each other as if pulled in by a magnetic force.

"You look happy there," Natasha said, approvingly. "It's sweet of you to bring her flowers at her concert."

Her guess was correct, and Coulson nodded. "Just wanted to make sure she knew I was there," he said, ever so slightly softer.

"What happened?" It sounded like a breakup to her, and she was already sorry for it. The image of Coulson, smiling so easily and openly in that photograph, was a rare sight, and it lingered in her mind's eye as he tucked the wallet back in his jacket.

Coulson shrugged again. "--We're based in New York. She moved to Portland." He added after a beat, "It's where her family is."

And that was all he said, simple and factual, but Natasha knew what he _wasn't_ saying. She could see in the way his gaze stayed low, and the way his fingers lingered slow on the table, and the way his lips pressed together thinly. _Regret._ He hadn't wanted her to go, and he missed her.

In a job as dangerous as his, and with as little reward as he got for the risks he took, it was hard to think of something so simple ending a relationship that genuinely made him happy. Natasha took a long sip of her coffee to cover for her own regret. Love wasn't a luxury she bothered with; wasn't even, really, something she still believed in. Emotions were hard to control, but -- just like physical attraction, just like trust, just like hope -- could be manipulated with enough effort, and it was based on nothing so secure and tangible as logic and reason. Romance was a chemical concoction, at the end of the day, and she didn't indulge in such an unnecessary thing.

But if Coulson still believed in love... If being with that woman made him happy... Natasha wanted that for him.

"Maybe the next alien incursion will be in Crater Lake," Natasha ventured neutrally.

Coulson looked up at her, and then down at the newspaper left open on the table, chuckling. "That'd be nice," he admitted.

Natasha didn't need to ask if he'd tried to convince his cellist to stay; she knew that he wouldn't have, that he would have accepted her decision as an inevitability, with deep gravity, and let her make her own choice. He wouldn't have chosen to drag her down with the knowledge that he was unhappy, if that was what she wanted.

"Next time, you should tell me," Natasha said, taking a sip of her coffee. It had cooled too fast, and it tasted strange on her tongue. "I want to hear it." She made herself smile at him. "We can be that kind of girlfriends if I say so."

The older man looked up at her, and then smiled slightly in return. "I stand corrected," he said.

He seemed in a good mood as he got up to leave the kitchen and get on about his day. Natasha knew that in a way, it was easier for him to be with and confide in people who weren't in SHIELD. With a friend like Pepper, he could relax and tak about day-to-day things, the affairs of his personal life; with co-workers he carefully put those feelings away, becoming a man devoted completely to his work, the same way that they were all people completely devoted to their work.

But she hoped that knowing that he had friends in SHIELD -- friends who could also understand -- would help him feel better.

That was all she had to offer him, after all. Natasha had no idealism left to help bolster his romantic heart.


End file.
